


You Say Come Touch Me

by TheDruidIsIn



Series: The Violet Hour: Oh, to be wicked or to be sweet [6]
Category: Horror Fandom, House of Wax (2005), Slasher Fandom - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Biting, Cowgirl Position, Dacryphilia, Established Relationship, F/M, Fellatio, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Hickies, Light Bondage, Light Hair-pulling, Loss of Virginity, Love Bites, MC’s hair ties, Masks, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Teasing, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Riding, Shy Vincent Sinclair, Sort Of, Swallowing, TW for mention of animal death, TW for mention of hunting, Vaginal Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Vincent continues to be shy, Vincent’s First Time, Vincent’s flannel, absolutely NOT a slowburn, ass grabbing, copious amounts of playing with Vincent’s hair, multiple male orgasms, slightly submissive Vincent, submissive Vincent Sinclair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDruidIsIn/pseuds/TheDruidIsIn
Summary: A hair tie exchange goes a bit too far and a scarf becomes involved. Vincent gifted his flannel to his SO.
Relationships: Vincent Sinclair/Original Character(s), Vincent Sinclair/Original Female Character(s), Vincent Sinclair/Reader
Series: The Violet Hour: Oh, to be wicked or to be sweet [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939786
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	You Say Come Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy, Smutty, Hurt-Comfort with a side of Feels(TM). Who doesn’t like Horny But Tender(TM)?
> 
> Note: Bo is mentioned, briefly, but doesn’t make an appearance.

“I need a hair tie,” I muttered to myself, frowning softly as I pawed through my kitchen drawer for one. I knew Vincent kept a few in his workshop to keep his hair out of his face while he worked, but didn’t usually carry one around on his wrists or in his pocket. That had ended with me buying extra for him when I went into the next town over from Ambrose. If I couldn’t find one in my own damn drawer, I’d be tempted to go to Ambrose, even though he always begged me not to enter town without him—especially if Bo were around. My scrunchies kept disappearing because he kept stealing them _and_ because I couldn’t resist giving one to him when he asked. 

I huffed in annoyance and slammed the drawer shut. The hike to Ambrose seemed more and more likely unless I made the journey to the next town. I lived in the woods outside the town limits, hunting, foraging, and tending a small garden of herbs and vegetables to feed myself. I had two chickens and a goat that I kept for eggs, milk, and cheese, and a dog, Paprika, for companionship. Vincent and I crossed paths with each other’s snares and pitfall traps multiple times before we ever met in person. He’d been nervous and shy then. He couldn’t look at me straight-on at first, mostly staring down at rabbits dangling from his hand. He complimented me on some of the trip wires I set, and on my marksmanship. We’d taken down the same doe, leaving it with two arrows protruding from its body.

He seemed...hesitant, at first, to accept an offer of friendship. He constantly kept his face hidden behind a wax mask, and it took several meetings for him to talk about his family. From what I gleaned from the conversations, his brother exerted considerable control over him, forcing him to assist him with any and every endeavor he had while treating him poorly. On top of that, I gathered early on that he wore his mask to hide some type of disfigurement. I never pressed him to take it off since it seemed to upset him. Otherwise he seemed sweet enough, just troubled and a bit timid, oppressed underneath his brother’s more aggressive personality. 

I meticulously wove my hair into small braids so it had less chance of coming undone, using the ones at front to hold the rest of my hair back by tying them in a loose knot behind my head. I pulled on an overly large, loose flannel shirt that had once belonged to Vincent over my hoodie and looped a fleece scarf around my neck to stave off the autumn chill, then tucked my hair into a soft satin-lined cap and drew up my hood. I stepped into a set of thick, steel-toed boots, locked my door, and set off for Ambrose, approaching it from the direction that Vincent usually took. Knowing how he set traps for prey, I skirted around anything he left out and made it to the edge of town in one piece.

I paused, getting my bearings, when I had the sensation of being watched. I tensely scanned the area around me, then relaxed, turning slightly to my right. “Vincent?”

He melted out of the shadows next to me, a bone-handled knife in hand. Today, he had his lengthy dark hair piled on top of his head in a bun, held in place by none other than my decorative Sailor Moon scrunchy. “Dahlia?”

I don’t know what possessed me to grab him after how skittish he’d been, but I did, wrapping him carefully in my arms, mindful of the unsheathed blade he held. “There you are.”

He stiffened at first in my embrace, but slowly loosened his stance, an arm coming up awkwardly around my shoulders. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. Bo is at home right now.”

I leaned back to look at him, at his expressive eye that often betrayed his true emotions despite the literal mask he used to shield himself from others. The uncertain tremor in his voice gave away even more. “You really are frightened of him,” I blurted out, wincing a second later but finishing the thought anyway. “Why?”

Vincent’s arm around me tightened unconsciously before he pushed me off of him. He turned his face away from me, avoiding my concerned gaze. “It doesn't matter, just get out of here before he finds you.”

My eyes narrowed at that. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I came because someone keeps stealing my hair tires, Vincent. I don’t have any left in my kitchen _or_ my bathroom drawer.”

I could _hear_ the sound of his blush. He uttered a low, abashed apology. “Sorry, Lia.” 

I shrugged, more convinced than ever of the conclusions I’d drawn about his and Bo’s relationship when he flinched at the movement. “I’m not angry with you, Vii. I just need some of them. I have my hair in a cap because I have literally nothing to use to tie it back with and thought I could just walk over to get some of the ones you’ve borrowed.”

His good eye—the only eye that had ever been visible through the eyeholes of his mask—flickered back to me, taking in the cap I did indeed wear underneath my hood at the moment. He shuffled his feet self-consciously, sheathed his blade safely on his belt and dug around in one of his pockets. His hand emerged with a different hair tie, a thin tan one that came from a pack of different variations of black and brown. He offered it back to me sheepishly. I rolled my eyes fondly. “Thank you.” 

When I accepted it from him, our fingers brushed and butterflies erupted in my stomach. Without thinking I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the lips of his mask. He immediately stumbled back, hand flying to that spot and eye staring at me in shock. 

“I—”

What could I say? “I’m sorry.”

I turned to flee back to my house, but a hand caught at my wrist. Startled, I glanced back to see that Vincent had darted forward to grab hold of me before I could leave. For a few long moments, the only sound between us was his harsh breathing as he stared at me and I stared back at him. Then he pulled me to him, head tilted, gazing down into my face with hope shining in his visible eye. 

“You...you want to kiss me?”

Completely unhurried, I reached up with my unoccupied hand to cup the sightless half of his face, the one he often kept turned away from me. “I want more than that, Vii,” I answered honestly. “I want all of you. I have for a while now.”

His breath hitched in his throat. In a small voice, he echoed one word. “All?” 

Haltingly, my hand on his face dropped to ease his mask up a few inches. He protested immediately, jerking his face free of my touch. “No, Lia.” 

He sounded hurt and afraid. I leaned into his body, still so close to mine, and felt something else—the stirrings of his arousal. I ignored it in favor of soothing his emotional distress. “All means all,” I told him, “but I was really just trying to kiss your lips for now.”

His hand on my wrist shook, his breath coming in short gulps of air as he nearly hyperventilated. “I can’t,” he hissed. 

“Why not,” I prodded gently. 

“Because no one kisses freaks,” he spat bitterly, sounding as if he were quoting someone else’s words. “No one loves freaks. No one…” he paused, close to trembling—and tears—judging by his tone. “No one fucks freaks, either.”

At first I could only blink, completely taken aback by his words. I reached out for his face again but he flinched away from me. “Vii,” I murmured. “You’re _not_ a freak. Aren’t we friends?” He said nothing, so I continued. “I _do_ want to kiss you. I care for you and I…” I swallowed thickly, overcome with emotion. “I already love you.” He gasped, but I ploughed ahead before he could rebuke me. “And as for the rest…. If you want that, we can try it when you’re ready.”

He dropped my hand, actively, visibly trembling. “You...me?”

The sentence hardly made sense and yet I understood his meaning anyway. “Yes.”

He backed us up until my back bumped into a skinny sampling. I held still, waiting patiently. Eventually he brought his fingers haltingly to my right cheek, clumsily tracing over my cheekbone with his knuckles. “Us.” 

“Yes.”

He lowered his face until the lips of his mask pressed against my mouth. I humored him and kissed the dried wax, realizing it might take a little coaxing to feel the real thing. His hips jerked forward, crossing the little space between us so that his erection jutted into my thigh. I lowered my hand to the outline of his cock, applying firm pressure with the heel of my hand. He whimpered, bracing himself against the tree with his right arm as his left hand splayed over the entire right side of my face. I watched the change in his eye as a hesitant hope mixed with readily available disbelief. “Lia, how do we—how do we do it?” 

I’m not sure if he meant just the sex, if he meant kissing, if he meant the emotional aspect of it all. Perhaps he meant any of it. What struck me was the innocence in his voice, the earnest gleam to his eye, the blush creeping up his neck. “Not here.” I smoothed my hand carefully over his bound hair. “Come with me to my house.”

He agreed almost immediately. “Okay.” 

He stepped back to give me room to move on my own. He seemed unsure of how to proceed, so I took his hand and twined our fingers, tugging gently to get him to follow me. He glanced at our joined hands the entire trek back to my place, not letting go even when we got to the front door. I unlocked it one-handed, pulling him in with me and relocking it behind us as I toed off my shoes. He quickly followed my example. 

“Come on.” 

He gripped my hand fiercely as I led him down the hall to my room, completing our journey at the foot of my bed. He studied it uncomprehendingly, fidgeting anxiously with the button on his overalls. I gingerly disentangled our hands to start undressing. Instead of copying me right away, he watched me slide out of my flannel shirt and extricate myself from my hoodie and scarf. I removed my cap so that my hair tumbled onto my shoulders, then unbuttoned my jeans. As I balanced myself with the wooden baseboard at the end of my bed to pull off my socks and toss them down too, I commented on it. “Are you going to undress, Vincent?”

He shook his head uncertainly. In my underclothes, I closed the distance between us, extending my hand to his overalls. As I unhooked the straps from the buttons, his right hand came up to encircle my left wrist. “Lia.” 

His breathing became ragged again. I calmly waited a few moments then went on with undressing him, taking my time. Gravity took his overalls. Resting my hand on his chest, I looked at his masked face. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes, Dahlia,” he mumbled. 

“Will you let me take off your shirt, or do you want to?”

The calm, steady, gentle tone of my voice seemed to do the trick. He released my wrist and pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head himself, adding it to the growing pile of clothing on the bedroom floor. Now he too stood in his undergarments. I let him keep his mask, sensing that trying to remove it would get us nowhere. I guided him by his shoulders to sit on my bed. “We’ll only go as far as you want to,” I explained. “Lay down, Vincent.”

He pulled his gangly limbs onto the bed and lay on his back. I crawled onto the bed with him, straddling his lap and being greeted by an erection, either still ongoing from earlier or having returned once we arrived. He moaned, his hands grasping at my hips as he bucked, brushing his entire length over my panty-clad vulva. Sounding strained, he gave me a trusting but searching look. “You know what to do, Dahlia?”

I nodded, lowering my head to kiss softly at his neck. He whimpered and ground upward with a bit more force. “Yes, I've been with someone before. Now be still,” I admonished, muffled by his skin. I loosed his hair to run my fingers through it as I made a steady trail of love bites to his shoulder. I ran my lips over his clavicle to his throat, where I left a larger love bite than the others, repeating the process backwards until the trail ended on the opposite side of his neck. His quiet mewls of pleasure in my ear, the way he strained against me, his body trapped between mine and my bed as he desperately humped me through our remaining clothes, all fueled the low fire growing in my lower abdomen. Knowing that I would be the first to touch him this way, to make him whine and bring him to completion, aroused me immensely. “Be patient,” I scolded him good-naturedly. “I just want to make sure you enjoy your first time. You only get one.”

He settled down a little but seemed no less impatient. I kissed his chin by the edge of his mask. “If it’s alright with you, Vincent, I’m going to touch you.”

He moaned in a way that sent a jolt straight between my legs. I twitched, even wetter than before. 

“Please,” he begged. 

I explored his chest with my fingertips as I sucked his earlobe into my mouth. He arched against me again, panting and whispering my name. I forced myself to tune out those sensual sounds so I could focus on memorizing the plains of his body, so responsive to me. I encountered the bumpy ridges of a few old scars, some from cuts and others from small burns. I outlined each one with a feather light touch, counted every rib, teased both of his nipples. More delicious noises vibrated in his throat and dropped from his lips. I scraped my teeth over his earlobe as I let it go, sitting up to check in with him. “Did you like that?”

He cupped my rear in his palms and squeezed. “Yes,” he hissed, clearly tortured by the stimulation in the best possible way. “But I—my—it—- _please.”_

I wriggled around until I elicited another one of his musical moans. “You want me to touch you there, Vii?” 

Vincent threw his head back, his spine bowing taut as he rutted against my by now soaking underwear. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please touch me, Dahlia, please.”

He sounded so rife with need and desire that it threatened tears. My walls clenched as I came solely from hearing him beg me for more attention. I slithered off of him, earning a devastated cry of despair. I brought his head up to kiss at his throat, where his love bites showed rather nicely already. “I’m not stopping. Trust me, Vincent.”

He shuddered then grew still again, placated. I stroked his length through his underwear with two fingers. His fingers gripped the comforter so tightly I thought they would rip it, and his hips jerked into my touch. I withdrew it, receiving another whimper. I got off the bed, throwing a reassurance over my shoulder as I went to get a lighter spring scarf. I brought it back to the bed with me. “How would you feel about me tying this around your wrists?”

He turned his head to study it, then looked at me in confusion and uncertainty. “Why?”

“So you can focus on what sex feels like,” I told him, “So you’re more focused on every sensation I can give you. If you don’t like it or it makes you uncomfortable, I can take it off at any time. You just need to tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

He scrutinized it again as he considered it, then hesitantly nodded. “You promise you’ll take it off if I don’t like it?”

I dropped a light kiss onto his temple. “Cross my heart.”

A sigh shuddered through his chest. “Alright, I’ll try it then. What do I have to do?”

I gently stretched each of his arms over his head and laid his wrists side by side, then loosely tied the scarf around them. “How’s that? Is it too tight?”

He shuffled them around a bit, reassured when he realized he could easily remove the scarf himself if he needed. “No,” he answered shyly. 

“Good.”

Knowing his hands would be occupied, I returned my attention to fulfilling his request. I slid my fingers underneath the waistband of his underwear and drug them downward, revealing curly dark pubic hair and the flushed tip of his cock. “Lift your hips, Vincent,” I instructed quietly. When he did, I slipped his underwear off and lobbed them in the direction of our discarded clothes. As soon as the cooler air hit his heated cock, he writhed around uncontrollably, keening softly. I put him out of his misery by taking him in hand and stroking down his shaft. He immediately bucked off of the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching. I spread his legs and nestled between them. As he watched me, his cock twitching helplessly in my gasp, I crouched, folding in on myself until I could lower my mouth onto him. He gasped, putty in my hands as I sucked at the underside of his head. A helpless thrust of his hips drove his cock deeper into my mouth and down my throat until my nose came to rest in his pubes, my lips encircling the base of his cock. 

Thankful for once that I lacked any sort of real gag reflex, I clenched my throat around the intrusion, making it tighter as I bobbed my head. No doubt if I hadn’t bound his wrists he would be thrashing wildly around full-body. Instead he lay beneath me, not quite still but immobile enough for my purposes. I carefully pulled down on his sack, making certain that I avoided his testicles as I made a vice with my fingers. Vincent’s breathing turned ragged, his legs spreading further. “D-Dahlia, that f-feels…. _oh_!” 

A single, sharp cry and he came down my throat. I continued to bob my head gently through his orgasm, letting him ride it out without overwhelming him. When he finally stopped jerking about, I pulled off of him with a pop, laying next to him and kissing his collarbone until his breathing evened out again. “W-was that it,” he rasped in a daze, his head lolling lazily toward me and his single pupil blown. His voice had taken on a husky quality as well as a stutter when he got close.

I stroked his hair away from his face. “Unless you want to try something else?”

His neck reddened in a blush as it had earlier, and it took him several minutes to answer. I just kept stroking his hair. Eventually, he tentatively ventured, “Do you think, could you—?” He took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed. “I’ve always...always wondered what it would be like to have something inside.”

I kissed his shoulder. “Inside?” I promoted encouragingly, though I thought I knew what he meant. 

His voice dropped another octave. “Inside...inside of me. You know.” 

“I think I do. Let me get something.” I rolled away from him for a moment to retrieve the jar of coconut oil I kept on my nightstand, then showed it to him. “I can use this on you, if you’re sure you want me to keep going.”

Vincent eyes the container. “What is it?”

Fuck. _Could_ he read? Rather than asking, I simply told him. “Coconut oil.” 

“Coconut oil?” Vincent repeated, clearly curious. “Isn’t that for cooking?”

“Yes, but you can also eat it raw, apply it to your skin and nails to make them stronger, and use it as lubrication,” I elaborated without being asked. “I get wet when I’m aroused, but you won’t.”

The trust shining in his eyes as he gazed at me made my heart clench. “And it’ll make it so it won’t hurt?”

I nodded. “Yes. Just try to relax, and if anything hurts or scares you, let me know so I can stop.”

I trailed soft kisses along his neck as I unscrewed the kid and dipped my fingers into it, scooping out a moderate amount onto a little dish that I also took from my nightstand. “Make sure you spread your legs and bend your knees,'' I whispered quietly. 

Vincent complied without protest. I resumed my position between his legs, gently running my hands over his thighs. His cock twitched twice, his arousal building again. I took it back into my mouth, lightly licking the tip as I began liberally applying some of the oil to his rim, which quivered underneath my touch. It seemed to contract at the contact, so I made a few comforting noises and pushed his cock back into my throat, waiting until Vincent relaxed to dip my forefinger back into the oil and oh-so-slowly press a single finger into him to the first knuckle. I spread the oil around inside of him, thrusting shallowly. Not for the first time, I prompted him to update me on his comfort and pleasure, his cock gliding slickly from between my lips with a thick coating of saliva. “How does that feel?”

“D-different,” he panted, slipping back into a stammer, “N-nice, b-better than I t-thought.”

“So you like it?”

“Y-yes.”

As if to support that claim, he clenched around me. When I sensed he could take it, I withdrew my hand, took more oil, and reentered him with two fingers. Like earlier when I used my mouth on his cock, his back left the bed as if someone were drawing him up by his navel. I adjusted my angle, cautiously searching for his prostate. I knew as soon as I found it because he arched upward again, his hips undulating and his toes curling. Sensing his burgeoning excitement and feeling how much he opened up to me, I slipped in a third finger, penetrating him so I hit his prostate with every thrust. I sucked his cock back into my mouth until just the tip hit the back of my throat, rubbing the underside with my tongue. The volume of his panting ratcheted up a notch, interspersed with drawn-out, gasping moans. “D-D-Daliah, _oh_ p-please oh g-god oh _f-fuck.”_

A sob erupted from him, eliciting another touch-less orgasm for myself. I quickened my pace, twisting my wrist in a corkscrew motion. His moans turned into a low scream of pleasure. His hips snapped into motion, and for every thrust of my wrist he thrust into my throat. A bit of drool dribbled from my open mouth, dripping down his shaft and collecting in his pubes at the base. His keening rose further in volume, until with a wordless shout he came again, continuing to thrust through my swallows. After the last spurt, he relaxed bonelessly against my comforter, aftershocks rolling through him in waves and a faint sheen of sweat covering his body. 

I slowly withdrew my fingers and mouth. He whimpered, whining my name softly. “D-Dahlia.” 

I set aside the dish and laid next to him again, kissing the curve of his face to his ear. “Vincent.” I nuzzled into the crook of his neck and buried my face there, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his skin. “Are you okay?”

He shivered. “Y-yes, but…” 

I ghosted my fingertips over his stomach. “You can tell me, Vii. Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head frantically. “N-no.” He swallowed audibly. “I-I w-want you. P-please.”

I raised onto my elbow to look into his masked face. “You’ve experienced a lot today, Vii.” I ran my hand over his stomach, chest, and throat to cup his face. “Are you sure?”

He pressed his cheek into my palm, gaze pleading. “D-do y-you n-not—do you not want to?” 

I touched my forehead to his. “I do, but I don’t want to rush you. We can always do that the next time.”

“N-no, p-please, i-if you, if you w-want me. I w-want this.”

I worked my fingers into his hair to rub soothing circles on his scalp. “I want you, _all_ of you.” Leaving my hand buried in his hair and peppering kisses over his chest, I slipped my panties off with one hand and straddled his waist. Glancing back at his face, I looked at his eye, seeing not only anticipation, but vulnerability as well. I reached between us to grip his cock. As soon as I touched it he sobbed again, begging. “D-Dahlia, I n-n-need, I n-need—”

“Shh, I know, I know.” I eased onto him inch by inch, not because I needed the time to adjust—my underwear was completely soaked through—but because I thought he would. There was nothing else I could do to prepare him for the sensation of slipping inside of me. I didn’t expect him to last long this time, not with it being his first time, and not after him orgasming twice, not to mention that he’d finished so quickly those two times. The sounds he made as he glided into place were enough to send me over the edge again. I heard him whimpering and felt him squirming but forced myself not to stop feeding in his length until I was fully seated on him. His chest rose off the bed and a wretched sound tore from his throat. 

“Breathe,” I murmured.

“F-fuck.”

“Breathe, Vincent. It’s okay.”

  
  


“F-fuck, D-Dahlia.”

I gave him a minute or so to get used to being inside of me. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

His cock pulsed. He bit his lip and flopped backward. “Ok-kay.”

I started moving, undulating my hips and rocking back and forth at intervals. I combed my fingers through his long hair, biting my lip as I clamped tightly around him. The muscles in Vincent’s arms strained as he watched me wide-eyed. His attention flickered between my face to my breasts as they bounced softly against my chest to where his cock disappeared inside of me. When it strayed back to my breasts, I reached blindly for his bound wrists, not taking my eyes off of him. “Would you like to touch me, Vincent?”

“P-please, L-Lia.”

With my free hand I untied the scarf trapping his wrists together, then took one of his hands and raised it to my breast. He cupped it in his palm and brushed his thumb over my nipple. He ran his other hand over my stomach. “W-why d-do you w-want me?”

My heart clenched in my chest. “I just do, Vincent. I love you. You’re my friend, and I started falling for you. Isn’t that enough?” 

Tears glistened and fell. I stretched my body out along his, nestling my head into the crook of his neck and rolling my hips lazily. His hands ran the length of my spine to settle on my lower back. “You l-love m-me?”

“Yes.”

He caught me off guard by suddenly rolling over, flipping us so I lay underneath him and his hands rested on my hips. I wrapped my legs around his waist, ankles crossed, holding him close to me. 

“L-let me,” he whispered. “Let me t-try.” 

His first few thrusts were shallow and clumsy, but he soon fell into a rhythm. His breathing grew harsh again. I trailed my pinky finger down the center of his mask, over the ridge of his nose. “I want to see your face, Vincent.”

He almost fumbled to a halt. “W-why? Y-you’ll j-just be s-scared.”

“Because I want to watch your face as you finish inside of me.”

Out of surprise, he broke his rhythm and thrust uncharacteristically deep and hard. I bit back a moan. This time, Vincent froze. “I’m s-sorry! D-did I h-hurt you?” 

“No, keep going. You’re almost there, I can feel it.”

He hesitated first, having to work back up to his original pace, then surpassing it as he gained confidence. The closer he got, the worst his stutter got, his voice deepening further and becoming even huskier than before. He reached up to his face with shaking hands and slowly removed his mask, fumbling with the ties a few times. He refused to look at me once he laid it on the bed next to us, though he didn’t stop moving. I reached for his face and placed my curled finger underneath his chin. “Look at me, Vii,” I gently ordered. 

It took a few seconds to coax him to meet my eyes again. When he did, the fear of rejection written clear as day into his facial features for me to witness, I gently turned his face to see what he kept hidden. Half of it was disfigured, whether from a birth defect or an accident I had no way of knowing, though I leaned toward the latter given the large swaths of scarring I could see. I delicately traced over that side of his face, long caresses that ran from his temple to his jaw. “There you are,” I whispered. “I see you and I’m not afraid of what I see.”

Some of his distress drained away at my words even as he insisted brokenly to the contrary. “I _a-am_ a f-freak,” he corrected me. “I s-scare people, n-normal p-people. E-everyone s-said so, b-but t-thank you.”

I wound my fingers into his hair and used my hold to bring his face closer to mine. I kissed across the so-called ruined cheek to his lips. “Don’t say that about yourself,” I mumbled against his mouth, “You’re _not_ a freak.” 

He melted when my lips pressed into his, moaning into my mouth. I slipped my tongue past his lips, carding my hand through his hair until I had enough to pull, gently tugging to avoid hurting him. I reached around his body and slid two fingers back into him. I tasted his tears on my tongue as they slipped free. His still somewhat clumsy thrusts became erratic, increasing in tempo and filling the air with a wet slapping sound. “Gnngg.” He broke our kiss as he came, gasping, sobbing, flooding me with his cum. I took all of it, not looking away from his face as it screwed up with ecstatic pleasure. He thrust jerkily through his orgasm, emitting guttural noises until he finally fell silent, all movement ceasing. He pulled free of me and sank back onto the bed, where he lay panting on his back for several long moments until he rolled onto his side and cuddled against me. 

I petted his hair, turning into him to sprinkle kisses over both halves of his face. “I hope this was okay for you.”

He tucked his face into the crook of my neck, answering shyly. “It w-was.” 

He played with my braids, some of which had gotten mussed or unraveled slightly, slowly opening them one by one. I let him, laying in his arms and tracing over his side until he freed the last of my hair. He seemed content and drowsy, sinking into a peaceful, satiated lassitude. He readjusted us so that he clutched me to him, my ear over his heart. He couldn’t stop touching some part of me even as his eyelid drooped shut more than once. 

As he fought to stay awake, I yanked the ends of my comforter over us so that it covered most of our bodies.

“Sleep, Vincent,” I murmured. 

He snuggled into me, pressing insistently closer so that as much of our skin touched as possible. 

  
“Don’t leave me,” he begged. 

“I’m not planning to,” I promised, watching until he went limp and slipped into unconsciousness. As my eyes closed, I breathed in his scent and the scent of sex, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat in my ear. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fucking hell this ran long. Oops. Also, I think Vincent and Brahms have to be my favorite Soft(TM) Slashers. Even though This is actually part six, I wrote it first before part five. I’ll update the Series order later.
> 
> Addendum: I honestly enjoyed writing something for Vincent so much that I need to add more lol.


End file.
